


Natural Progression

by NympheSama



Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: (I hope), Developing Relationship, Emotional, M/M, POV First Person, Self-Reflection, Soul-Searching, thoughts and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 01:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19453753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NympheSama/pseuds/NympheSama
Summary: Henri contemplates his feelings for Louis, trying to work out when their business relationship changed, in an attempt to discover just what the other man means to him.





	Natural Progression

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WillGrammer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillGrammer/gifts).



> Hello :)
> 
> I... watched this film on recommendation and I loved it. I loved everything about it and it's so beautiful in a way.  
> Anyway, you don't really wanna listen to me babble; so suffice to say this is just a water tester I suppose to see how I do with the pair... why I did first person I have no idea because I suck at it (sorry about that)
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and maybe I'll write more?
> 
> x My love to you all x

When had it changed? When had the chore, become a choice?

I can’t quite pinpoint it, the memory is like water between my fingers; ever slipping away from me.

Was it when he killed for me? Protecting my life, as I’d always promised to protect his.

Was it that he came to me in the hospital? When he offered me a new plan to escape this hellhole as soon as he was able.

Was it the coconuts? The sustenance which kept me going for so long, but at such a price; when they were discovered.

Was it seeing him be beaten? Defenceless, clearly not in his right mind; and being beaten for it, like some kind of animal. The warden said I was lucky, that the guard hadn’t died... sometimes I wonder about the truth of that statement. Would it not have been a mercy, to have this confusion ended?

Five years I’ve been in here, five years of silence and solitude. Five years of dreams, where I ran faster and we both escaped that deceiving vision of freedom and found the real thing together.

But still it haunts me; what was it that made me see him so differently?

Seeing him stand up for himself when we were all in the hospital? That was certainly... _something._ But it wasn’t; _it._ I blink slowly, staring silently when the guards finally come for me; rising to my feet slowly, and shuffling even slower to the door of my private prison. I hesitate, because I’ve lived in here with my thoughts for five, lonely years now; and although the outside world calls, I feel I need to mark the moment into my memory. _Do I congratulate myself for not breaking? For surviving?_ I wonder, though my expression never even flickers. I can’t seem to think of any way to appropriately mark the occasion after all I guess, so I step over the threshold and into the hallway.

The warden is waiting, I don’t even acknowledge him, turning to look back at my former cell; my former _world_ for the past five years. I know it will haunt me. The things I did to sleep, the things I dreamt or thought, even when awake; as the days continued to pass in endless monotony. _But I will also haunt it in return._ I think of the handprint I left on the wall; my blood staining the room, my name scratched into the surface of another.

The warden is talking, and he finally steals my attention from the room which I’ve both lived and not lived for the past five year. “What were you living for?” He all but whispers, and I slowly turn to face him. I may be thin from the detainment, I may be a mess physically; and if I admit it mentally, but I’ll never forget the reluctant admiration in his eyes when they searched mine. A second later it’s gone, and he’s sneering again; condemning me, or so he thinks. Under different circumstances, I think he would have admired my strength, the fact that he couldn’t break me; but I know he won’t let himself feel anything even remotely compassionate towards a mere prisoner.

The boat ride is silent, save for the engine; steadily puttering away as it drove us toward the island which was to be my new prison. I drink it in, the peacefulness, the hopelessness of the situation; but still, the question nags at me.

When had it changed?

I don’t really expect he survived in two years in solitary, he even said after my first ‘vacation’ there that he would have fared differently. Perhaps that’s why the question is bothering me so much. Perhaps, I’m trying to come to terms with the idea of not seeing him again. But it feels like more than that. It feels like an unending itch; digging through my flesh to my heart and setting my pulse to spike erratically. I need to know.

_When did it change?_

The guards unchain me, and leave me to wander. They don’t care where I go now, for there are no rules on Devil’s Island; and therefore no reason for the guards to stay and watch over those of us they abandon here. I shuffle forward, my eyes drifting lazily over the large circular building, though I’m not really interested. I don’t feel anything, except the urgency to pinpoint when it was that every feeling I thought I knew had turned on me.

I’m staring at the floor when I sense him.

I think if I had anything but numbness in me right now, I’d stare in disbelief; but the best I can really manage is a slight catch in my breath. He’s watching me, almost as if he’s been counting the days and was expecting me. I can’t tell if it’s a second; or a lifetime that passes as I stare at him, relieved he’s alive, though I can’t bring myself to show it yet. It’s also as our eyes search each other, that I finally realise.

It was no one moment, that changed me, that changed my feelings for this man. There was no one moment which caused my indifference to be swept away, and my professional distance erased. There was only the natural progression of events, which culminated in the warmth and affection which I have come to associate with him. A sense of belonging.

“Now, what’s the son of two school teachers...” he drawls, and I can feel the smile I want to express; though my face refuses to move, either still too stunned or just too tired to remember such positive expressions. “... doing in a place like this?” He asks, immediately turning away.

I watch him limp away, and I want to laugh and cry in one. I do neither. I think of the time we met, a proud and arrogant safe cracker and a naive, smug forger; neither necessarily liking each other but at least, respecting the bargain we’d agreed upon. I wonder, when it changed for him. I plan to ask him. I ignore the food which the guards bring in behind me and follow after him silently.

He talks as I enter what is clearly his domain. The entire ceiling is just like his damn notebook; ink everywhere. He’s drawn everything, a roadmap of our journey through this hell. If I could feel anything beyond vague relief that he’s alive, I’m sure I’d say something suitably dickish about it all and make him laugh in that quiet little way he always had. I walk through the room, and feel like the past five years of separation were no more than a dream, falling into an immediate sense of comfort as I listen to him.

He stops as I find the window, staring out at nothing really, but listening to the crash of the waves; a false sense of freedom descending around me. _But is it enough?_ I wonder, cocking my head thoughtfully and watching a cloud pass idly by in the sky. My head turns of its own accord, as if answering the errant thought for itself. My pulse calms, when my eyes meet his; familiar knowledge reflected deep within as his lips curve into the smallest of smiles. _For now._ I think, and though my face doesn’t move, he seems to sense what I’m feeling because he sets about preparing some food.

I watch him for a long time, before I turn to look out the window again, drawing in a deep breath and soothing as much of the eternal itch I feel as I can. Escape can wait a few days. For now I am content to wait and regain the strength which was stolen from me over the years. For now I have him, and he has me.

We can live with that change.


End file.
